


Itching for a Scratching

by Eleanor Green (eldestmuse)



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Wings over Igen
Genre: Gen, Ista Weyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldestmuse/pseuds/Eleanor%20Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goldrider M'ila meets brownrider G'rel for the first time.</p>
<p>Includes M'ila and G'rel of Ista Weyr. Mentions C'lat (deceased) and C'bel of Ista Weyr.<br/>Mid-morning on D12 M1 T753 at Ista Weyr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Itching for a Scratching

M'ira stared at the cup of klah in her hand until Ninneth prodded her out of her reverie.

_I itch_ , the great, golden dragon said. Her tone was somewhere between gentle and matter of fact, as though she was perceptive enough to know that sounding plaintive, like she had as a hatchling, would only have served to make her rider feel guilty. Though Ninneth was a dragon, with all of the innocence and lack of guile that implied, she knew M'ira well after their long years of partnership.

"Give me a moment to get dressed, sweetheart. I'll be right out to bathe and oil you."

M'ira stood up from her couch with effort. It really was too soft -- the headwoman had replaced it, along with all of her furniture, after C'lat's death in an attempt to ease the memories her weyr held of happier times. She hadn't been consulted, but then, she hadn't really cared, and even now she couldn't bring herself to care enough to replace it.

A few dragging steps brought her to her wardrobe, and she picked out a set of short, tight wading clothes to wear under her biggest, most comfortable riding leathers. She changed out of her simple dressing gown reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep so she wouldn't have to deal with life.

Though she didn't care what she looked like or what the other weyrfolk thought of her, not after the loss of her weyrmate and lover, C'lat, even in the relatively balmy weather and even for a fairly short trip, she thought wearing anything but leathers was foolish when riding a-dragonback. Oh, some folks went _between_ in their gather finery and little else--but M'ira was small and lost body-heat easily. As much as M'ira wasn't in the mood to change clothes, she wasn't in the mood for chapped skin, either. And her dressing gown would be worse than useless trying to bathe a dragon.

She completed the ritual by rote, her mind blank as her fingers fastened her clothes and then put on Ninneth's riding straps. She double-checked them out of habit, then climbed up onto the big golden dragon.

The pair drew stares as they flew over the weyr bowl to the big lake near the weyrling barracks, but M'ira ignored them. Not out of dignity or pride, but rather apathy. She knew she had people's attention, but it didn't impugn on her awareness. Mechanically, she stripped off the leathers and piled them beside Ninneth's riding harness, up on the shore where they wouldn't get wet. A thin linen sheet ensured they wouldn't wind up covered in sand.

"Where is the itching worst? I'll start there."

_The back of my neck,_ Ninneth answered.

M'ira went to work sanding at her dragon's hide to get it clean and exfoliate away all of the dead skin. There was a lot of Ninneth to cover, so she was deeply immersed in the task when a brave young weyrling whose name she didn't know -- _brown Rintoth's rider,_ Ninneth supplied -- startled her. _They fly with Ovialth's wing now. His name is G'rel._

So not a weyrling, then. His group must have finished training without her noticing. She felt the sting of shame, which worsened her mood, but couldn't dwell on it properly because he spoke.

"Excuse me," he said tentatively.

She flinched. Though he was two decades younger than C'lat had been, he reminded her of him. He had a similar bearing and even his voice was the same pitch, though the accent was a little different and he rode a brown. When she turned to look at him, though, he thankfully bore little physical resemblance to her dead lover. Once she had recovered from the shock, she managed to say, quietly, "Yes?"

 "Would you like some help?"

She was tempted to reject him out of hand. She would have, too, if Ninneth hadn't inserted herself into the conversation. _I have informed Rintoth that my left front leg itches, as well._

"Ninneth would," she answered without inflection.

**Author's Note:**

> M'ila, jr. weyrwoman on gold Ninneth at Ista Weyr


End file.
